


Need to Know Basis

by Mikey (mikes_grrl)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Capsicoul - Freeform, Coulson Lives, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Misunderstandings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/pseuds/Mikey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve completely respects the very modern, gay relationship that Phil Coulson and Clint Barton share. He's good friends with Barton and he admires Coulson, so there is absolutely nothing about their love for each other that bothers Steve, not one bit. At all. </p><p>...except for the small, inconsequential fact that Steve is falling in love with Phil.</p><p>(Or, the one where Steve assumes and Clint assumes and Phil assumes and they're all wrong to some degree about what exactly is the topic of conversation, and the misunderstanding continues to grow.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh, the good old "misunderstandings" trope! I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Alternative summary courtesy of Djinnj! Thank you!
> 
> NOTE: the "eating disorder" tag is used despite the fact that it is a minor feature of this story and is not focused on or resolved. If you feel you need to know more before reading, please see the end notes.

Steve did not fall in love with Phil Coulson at his funeral. 

The SHIELD agent had won Steve's respect by taking on Loki alone, and Steve had been around enough fawning fans in his USO days that he could not hold Agent Coulson's clear admiration of Captain America against him (even after everything, Steve felt uncomfortable with his celebrity, but it was something he tried to accept diplomatically). What he knew of Agent Coulson from their very brief acquaintance was that he was smart, brave, endearing and honest. That was enough to mourn him. 

Coulson's coffin had actually been draped with a large round cloth with the Captain America shield printed on it, which Steve _was_ embarrassed about. He squirmed in his seat as Fury got up to speak, stopping for a moment to rest his hand on the star in the middle of the shield, as if holding the coffin down. 

Agent Barton leaned over. "Sorry about that. He didn't request it, but…I just had to. That you're here would have meant so much to him. I mean as an ex-Ranger he could have had the American flag but I had to do it." Clint whispered as Fury spoke about Coulson's heroism and loyalty. Steve listened for a while, learning about a man who was almost universally admired by everyone who met him. Pepper Potts did not break down in tears during her speech, but Clint Barton did, as well as a few agents in the audience. Deputy Director Hill sat stone-faced and pale throughout the proceedings. 

Everything people said pieced together the picture of a man at the height of his strength and power, a quiet unassuming man who stopped Earth-threatening villains with deadly confidence. And who, apparently, had lived long enough to "see the sea change of acceptance in our society, allowing him to express himself fully even as an ex-Army soldier of the United States."

Steve leaned over towards Bruce and away from Clint who was still looking devastated with Natasha's arm around his shoulder. 

"What is Agent Sitwell talking about?" Steve whispered.

Bruce gave him a startled look before whispering back. "Gay rights?"

"What?"

Bruce looked around, slightly panicked. "Uh, Agent Coulson was gay."

Steve blanched and then blushed. He knew what the term implied, but in his day it would not have been brought up at the guy's _funeral_. 

Bruce looked guilty. "He was a good guy, and a soldier. It shouldn't matter."

"It doesn't!" Steve said quickly, gaining a dirty glare from one of the agents in the row behind them. "I mean, it really doesn't." 

Bruce gave Steve a complex look that Steve suspected meant he had given too much of himself away. He faced front and concentrated on listening to more about the man he barely had time to know; a man Steve already missed with a longing that surprised him. He glanced at Barton a few times, reading heartbreak and despondency in every line of his face and his posture. Everything clicked for Steve and he understood exactly why Barton was so broken up. Steve himself wasn't too far from that feeling himself, still mourning the losses of both Bucky and Peggy, which for him had happened less than a month ago. 

He gazed at the enlarged photo of Agent Phil Coulson that was propped up on a stand to the right of the podium. He remembered the man being a little flustered around him at first, but Steve had quickly picked up on the amount of authority Coulson carried on the helicarrier. At first it had been hard to see him as anything more than a fan wanting his autograph, but as they zeroed in on Loki and then dealt with Barton's attack, Steve quickly dialed in on the agent's smooth, calm voice that always seemed to be in the background, issuing orders like polite requests and commenting dryly on comm chatter. 

Until he wasn't, of course. 

Steve wondered why he missed a man he barely knew. Steve himself was hardly the obedient soldier. He was used to following his own advice (no matter how much Bucky had yelled at him) and doing things the way he thought best. But it did not change the fact that he felt a warm blossom of pride that someone as valuable, smart and competent as Agent Coulson had thought Steve was important and admirable. 

Whatever happened after the funeral, Steve decided that he would do everything he could to keep himself in Coulson's good graces. He liked to think that up in Heaven—because where else would such an honorable, worthy and courageous soldier go in death?—Phil Coulson would look down on Steve with pride.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to Janni ([Janniverse](https://twitter.com/Janniverse)) for her critical help in identifying/choosing the motorbikes mentioned here. ♥

Steve did not fall in love with Agent Phil Coulson in the months following the funeral. He was too busy adjusting to the modern world and being an Avenger and secretly working on his art. It was hard not to think about Coulson, though, with the way Clint "Hawkeye" Barton went around looking perpetually devastated. 

Steve invited Clint to baseball games with him, and even though they were stuck in Stark's private box they still got to eat too many cheap hot dogs while yelling at the umpires. He went and tracked Barton down whenever Bruce (and it was _always_ Bruce) declared a team movie night, because Clint usually tried to back out. Steve preferred training with Clint because he was a sneaky, dirty fighter and that was the kind of fighting Steve needed practice with, since strength wasn't really an issue. But Clint still remained at arm's length most of the time.

Then they discovered that they were both motorcycle men, and that changed everything. 

"So this is my girl! She's a little old but she's rock steady and flies like a jet." Clint patted his motorcycle affectionately. "She's a [Honda CBR1000RR](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Honda_CBR1000RR), 2005. Custom paint job. I, uh, get her scratched up sometimes." He bobbed his head. "Never mean too. She's my baby."

Steve was still getting used to Japanese manufacturing companies being standard fare, even high-end fare, for motorcycles so he just smiled. He had to admit the bike looked a lot like a folded up bright purple quinjet, ready to take flight at any second. 

They were down in the bowls of the Stark (Avengers) Tower garage. Steve studied the bike for a moment. "When was the last time you took her out?"

Clint rubbed the seat. "Not for a while. Not since…well, me and Phil used to ride together a lot, you know?"

"Oh. Sorry." Steve rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to spend any time thinking about charming, kick-ass Agent Coulson on a motorbike. 

"No! It's okay. I should probably get a ride in." He took a deep breath. 

"We'll go together. Although I don't think we'll match." Steve waved a hand over at his SHIELD-customized [Harley-Davidson Sportster](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harley_Davidson_Sportster). It was a modern machine through and through but at least reminded Steve of his old war-time Harley, despite riding a lot smoother. He was very impressed with the advances made in suspension. 

Clint eyed it. "Can you go fast?"

Steve smiled, the thrill of the chase already warming his blood. "Try and keep up."

"Then we'll match perfectly." Clint grinned. 

After the first couple of weeks of the two of them disappearing for hours at a time on long rides, Pepper gave them matching leather jackets emblazoned with a ridiculous logo full of arrows and American flags that proclaimed them "The Avenging Angels". Eventually, Natasha showed up out of nowhere on a brand new, black and red [MV Agusta F4](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MV_Agusta_F4), which Clint called "sex on wheels" and Steve tried not to have inappropriate thoughts about in mixed company. She took turns like a devil and Steve found himself relying on the long-range reliability of his Harley to win any races. 

Natasha's Avenging Angels jacket showed up a week later. Tony tried to pretend he wasn't jealous.

They rode together and trained together and every once in while compared "how horrible was your orphanage" stories, but Steve never asked Clint about Coulson. He didn't have to, because Clint talked about him all the time.

"…so, you know, Coulson grabs this bag of flour and nails that asshole in the face!" Clint was laughing hard and Steve was already clutching his side. They were both in tears, and the story wasn't even done yet. "No really! Someone put the security tape footage on youtube! Oh God!" Clint fell over on the couch laughing, finishing the story of 'Phil stops a robbery' in between gasping breaths of air, barely getting out the final line about Phil taking _both_ kinds of donuts before driving away. They rolled onto the floor laughing, and Steve felt his face going beet red. 

"I swear to god, that asshole, he always drove away smelling like roses," Clint wiped his face as he tried to calm his breathing. "Until, you know."

The reminder of Coulson's death sobered them up a little. "I wish I could have gotten to know him better. Sounds like my kind of soldier."

Clint settled back against the couch, legs splayed on the floor. "Because he worshiped you. His first thought was always 'what would Steve Rogers do?' He read everything he could get his hands on about you. You're the reason he joined the damn Army in the first place."

Steve nodded, always a little embarrassed to be reminded of Coulson's admiration of him. "Rangers, right?"

Clint nodded proudly. "Bad ass mother fucker."

Steve smiled. Clint talked about Coulson the same way Steve thought about Bucky; that pain, still raw, was starting to scar over. Memories hurt but they also healed. "How long were you two, uh, together?"

Clint frowned at the question for a second before his expression cleared. "I guess we were, weren't we? Matched set, even before Nat showed up. Huh. About ten years."

Steve's heart broke for Clint again. He folded his hands in his lap. "I never said, but I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thanks. I mean, it's hard. He was family." Clint rubbed the back of his neck. 

Steve nodded, and then Tony came in and bitched at them about something to do with something, which only Tony seemed to understand. 

Life went on, and before Steve knew it, he had been in the future for over six months. He was close friends with Clint and Bruce, and had great working relationships with Tony, Natasha, Thor, and the always mysterious Spider Man kid. He still missed Bucky and Peggy and even Howard (occasionally, although Tony always reminded him why every Stark could be a pain in the ass most of the time). Steve had therapy and his "cultural re-integration" classes and occasionally, they all assembled to save the world. 

And then everything changed.

The call to assemble was familiar enough, but this time they were told to forgo their uniforms/battle armor/suits/gadgets and just report to SHIELD medical at the New York offices. Fury himself met them at the entrance to the medical ward, along with what looked like a platoon of heavily armed SHIELD agents. Steve was the official team leader so while Tony complained Steve stepped forward. 

"Sir?" He tipped his head at the armed agents ringing around them.

"They're for me, Captain," Fury ground out through clinched teeth. 

Even Natasha looked confused, which said a lot to Steve.

"What? You've been compromised?" Tony sniped, standing a little behind Steve. 

"Shut your damn mouth and follow me." Fury turned on his heel and walked off, his armed guard smart in his wake. Steve shrugged and motioned for the Avengers to follow as well, although he tried to put himself between them and Fury just in case. 

Deep inside the building, they walked up a set of stairs into what was clearly an observation deck, although the windows angled out over into a room below were blacked out. Fury nodded at his guard, who all stood around the walls trying not look intimidated by the Avengers. Steve kind of felt sorry for them. 

"This was my idea. It's on me, and I understand this is going to affect our working relationship. What I want you to keep in mind is that I did not intend to keep things going quite this long, but there were complications."

Clint and Natasha threw each other dark looks, and Steve squared his shoulders.

"Whatever it is, sir, I'm sure we can all come to some kind of understanding." Steve was absolutely positive that when the glass cleared he was going to see Loki on the other side, so he was unprepared to look down into the small private medical suite to find Agent Phil Coulson sitting in bed, reading a book. 

It took Steve, Thor, and three guards to pull Clint off of Fury, but by that time both men had blood streaked over the glass. Phil looked up at the thumping noises, frowning, but the glass was obviously one-way and he had no idea what had just happened. 

Natasha spit on Fury as she walked out after Clint to go visit Coulson. Tony, looking genuinely rattled, sat down in one of the chairs while a medic argued with Fury about stitches to his ear. Bruce had simply disappeared, which was always the best-case scenario in stressful situations. Steve stood next to Thor, watching the reunion below them. 

"It is good to have regained such an honorable man into our ranks, but I dislike Director Fury's subterfuge," Thor said softly. In the room, a shell-shocked Coulson wrapped his arms around Clint, who was sitting on the bed, his face shoved into Coulson's chest, his shoulders heaving with sobs. Natasha had one hand on Clint's back and another on Phil's face, and she looked both sad and furious. 

"Let's give them some privacy." Steve hit the control that clouded up the glass again.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve did not fall in love with Coulson, because Coulson was in a relationship with Steve's best friend and even he knew that was a bad idea. 

Phil got his own suite of rooms at the tower and was reinstated as the Avengers liaison with SHIELD since they all flat refused to talk to Fury, including Steve. Clint moved in with him immediately, and the first few weeks of Coulson's return, Clint followed the man around everywhere. It was sweet, if slightly creepy, but Steve couldn't fault him for it. 

Finally, though, things calmed down and Clint started sparring with Steve again and joining him for long motorcycle rides when they both had free time (which was often, because being a super-hero was more of a part-time gig). Things shifted back to how they had been before Coulson, and while it was a comfortable routine for Steve he was getting bored of it. It had been over six months since he had come out of the water, and for better or for worse, Steve felt that he had finally adjusted to his "brave new world." He missed Bucky and Peggy and even, in a strange way, being in a war that was fairly clear-cut and honorable (compared to what he read of about the wars that came after). Part of him was lonely, and he would always be a man out of time, but neither was he one to sulk around, licking his wounds. 

"Captain," Phil said one afternoon when Steve visited him at his "SHIELD remote location" office on the 34th floor of the tower. "May I help you?" Coulson smiled at him blandly, which Steve had learned was his default "I hope no one is invading Earth before lunch" pleasantries.

"Have a second?"

Phil nodded, putting his computer on hibernate so it shut down the holo-screens he had been reading. "Of course. Have a seat."

Steve settled and took a moment to frame his thoughts. "I'm Captain America. I have a job with the Avengers, which is important. But we are not in a state of war, so I find I'm at a loss with my time more often than not. Yet, I feel I have skills to offer, and would like to volunteer for…something." He shrugged. 

"Already tired of dragging Clint around the whole of New England on your bikes?" Phil smiled.

"No! Although I hope you don't mind our trips," Steve hazarded. 

Phil gave him a very slight shrug. "Clint Barton is his own man." Then he leaned back in his chair. "Unfortunately your skill sets are very unique, and of limited value in this day and age. Although…" Phil trailed off. 

"What are you thinking?" Steve scooted forward on his chair a little, trying not to seem eager and failing entirely. 

Phil sighed. "The Loki situation took out a number of senior agents." He kept looking at Steve thoughtfully. "We're short handed."

"Then put me work!" 

"We could. There are various projects going on related to the rebuilding of Manhattan, and you'd do well as a trainer in our hand-to-hand combat classes. But even that seems a waste, I think." He looked lost in thought.

"What are you thinking, then?" Steve leaned in.

"You've got leadership experience, your clearance level is high enough, and you're a master tactician."

Steve felt himself flush. "I do okay."

Phil tipped his head, his expression conveying his disbelief, but he didn't pursue the issue. Instead he tapped the desk with his long fingers. "As I said, we lost critical senior agents. We need replacements, yesterday. If you're willing to get a crash course in operations, I think you'd make a first class handler."

"A handler? Like what you do?"

"I'm more the Avenger's liaison now, although yes, technically I am the SHIELD handler for the team."

Steve took in a large breath, and Phil just watched him closely. "I know what you do, but is that reflective of what SHIELD handlers do regularly?"

Phil shrugged. "It's not too different from leading a team, and you did that very well with the Howling Commandos and you do that well now with the Avengers. The focus is usually short term operations, and we generally work in teams of five or less. The biggest challenge for you, I think, will be holding back. Handlers are the operations managers of a mission, we pull everything together and we can't do that from the front lines. Seeing the big picture of a mission requires a little distance."

"I've seen you in the field. And you took on Loki."

Phil grimaced but otherwise held himself in check. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. I've lead teams in to rescue my people, and I took on Loki because quite frankly no one else was around to to do it. Literally. I don't like sending anyone to their death but I've done it before, I'll do it again, and it's a poor leader who isn't willing to make that decision for himself when the time comes to walk into that room and point a gun on a god."

Steve stared at him, his breath taken away by the pure unselfconsciousness of Phil's earnest beliefs. There were few people who hewed the line that Steve walked himself, and Phil sat in his chair talking about self sacrifice as if it were the most normal thing in the world. If Steve believed in anything so fantastic, he would have declared them blood-brothers on the spot. He wondered if, when he had as many (actual) years under his belt as Phil, he would be as calm and self confident. 

"Steve?" Phil's expression turned slightly concerned.

Steve shook himself mentally before nodding. "I can do that. I don't have to lead the charge every time, as long as I have confidence in the plan and my people."

Phil smiled and Steve's gut went embarrassingly mushy. He cursed at himself silently — he had no right to go feeling that way about his best friend's "partner" (the new-fangled term that Steve had picked up via google for male lovers, not that he had been doing any research on that or anything).

"You never went to officer school."

"World War II was a little crunched for time." Steve nodded in confirmation. "I had to wing it."

Phil laughed, deep and soft. "True. However, SHIELD will put you through leadership training, and I suspect it will be something of a challenge for you. It was for me."

Steve found that hard to believe about Phil, but he nodded. 

"This position would also require you working for Fury directly." Phil looked at him expectantly.

"I feel I'm capable of putting personal feelings aside for the sake of the job, Agent Coulson," Steve said firmly. He wanted to impress Coulson, make him proud of him in a way he had not really felt since he had first met Dr. Erskine.

Coulson stared at him, his eyes glittery and hungry, assessing Steve like a butcher carving up steak. 

And that was how Agent Rogers was born.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve did not fall in love with Phil Coulson during the following two months, because he was too busy being run through the SHIELD equivalent of Officer Candidate School to do anything other than eat, sleep, and go to classes. 

There wasn't much they could do to improve his physical condition or his ability with firearms, because we was still Captain America, super-soldier, underneath the required basic black tactical jumpsuit that all the plebes wore. Instead, SHIELD pushed Steve through nearly a dozen crash-courses in tactics, procedures, protocols and legalities. The program traditionally ran for sixteen weeks but was compressed down to bare bones and eight weeks due to the pressing need for senior agents and handlers. Steve was one of only seven people being chewed up like ground meat by the demands being placed on them, but after the first two weeks only one dropped out. Steve felt challenged and productive, despite not actually doing much of anything other than read, write, and analyze. 

But it was also exhausting for him in a way it wasn't for the other agents. Steve often felt like a man out of time, but he realized that the Avengers had coddled him. Being made fun of by Tony for not knowing who the Beatles were paled in comparison to not having a deep familiarity with the history of the Middle East since the founding of Israel in 1947, for instance. What was to his classmates fairly low-level historical information they probably learned in high school was, for Steve, a complete re-mapping of everything he understood about politics. He discovered that his previous "cultural re-integration" social studies classes had been so basic and shallow as to be laughable, compared to the deep digging he found himself doing just to stay on top of things like weapons dealers in post-Soviet Russia.

He had stayed away from Coulson's office the first couple of weeks, but finally caved. His instructor had given him a thought exercise for a field op in Columbia which Steve had bungled because he had no idea about the complex history of the U.S. "war on drugs" and the long lasting effect it was having on central and south America. Steve felt like a first class idiot. 

"Coulson, I think this was a mistake, I—" Steve stopped at the doorway. "Oh. Sorry, I, uh, I'll come back later." He looked straight ahead at the wall in front of him.

Both Clint and Coulson looked up at him from the couch where they were sitting, eating from Chinese food take-out boxes. They weren't even touching but it just looked like an intimate moment, private time they had planned to share together and Steve had railroaded in on instead. 

"I mean, I didn't intend to interrupt your, uh, meeting. Sir." Steve felt his spine slowly lengthening, straightening up vertebra by vertebra until he was standing at full attention. 

"It's lunch," Clint said with his mouth full. 

"Right. I'll come back…later."

"Steve." Phil's calm, easy voice stopped Steve in his tracks. "Get in here, grab a box of food and eat something. Clint took one of everything on the menu, we'll be eating leftovers for a week." He waved a hand at his desk, which was in fact completely obliterated by a mountain of take-out boxes and soup containers.

"I was hungry!" Clint dug into his food again. "Not my fault you let me use the company card."

"I don't want to interrupt." Steve hedged, stepping back into the office. His stomach took that moment to growl. Clint laughed. 

"Your company would be welcome." Phil pointed to the space next to him. "It's been a long week and it's going to be a longer weekend, so we're just trying to relax and enjoy some good food. _All_ of the good food, apparently." He gave his heavily laden desk a reproachful look. Clint continued to be completely unrepentant as he ate.

Steve grabbed one of the containers of soup and sat down next to Phil. The other men were not precisely small, but Steve was big enough to both crowd the couch and feel like a giant next to them. He tried to tuck into his food and "think small" in order not to muscle too far into Phil's personal space. Phil, though, bounced his knee against Steve's companionably. 

They ate in silence for a while, Steve trading out the empty soup carton for a large box of Kung Pao chicken. Eventually Clint leaned back with a graceless burp and kicked his feet up on the office chair across from him. “Hey Steve, ride tonight?”

Steve tilted his head, considering. “Full moon, I think? Would be a great time to hit the countryside.”

“Night ride, hell yeah! Phil, you in?”

Both Steve and Phil startled. Steve had forgotten that Clint used to ride regularly with Phil, and suddenly felt guilty about never inviting him out before, instead hijacking his _partner_ whenever he had a whim to go riding. 

Phil just continued to look startled.

“C’mon, man. Lady Liberty is all dusted off and waiting for you.” Clint grinned like a fiend. 

Phil blushed crimson and Clint hooted a laugh. Steve turned to Phil. “Lady Liberty?”

Phil cleared his throat and visibly pulled himself together. “My [Triumph Bonneville America](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triumph_Bonneville_America). She’s, uh, customized.”

Clint continued snickering. Phil shot him a lethal look. 

“Triumph? That’s a British company.”

Phil turned the lethal look straight on to Steve. “It’s a fantastic bike.”

Steve raised his hands in surrender. “Clint’s bike is Japanese. I get it.” 

“Actually made in America, but point, Cap. Things have changed.” Clint stood up. “Meet in the garage at, what, around eight?”

Steve nodded, glancing over at Phil who didn’t answer. Clint raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

“You’d be welcome to join us, Phil. Natasha rides with us sometimes too.” Steve looked back down at his take-out box. 

Phil took a steady breath. “I look forward to it, gentlemen.” 

“Aces.” Clint fired a finger gun salute at them and sauntered out. 

Phil and Steve ate in silence. Steve actually managed to make a dint in the stack of boxes due to his metabolism, while Phil picked away at his garlic chicken. Eventually, Phil set his box down on the floor at his feet. 

“So why do you think this was a mistake?” He asked, turning to face Steve. 

Steve froze with lo mien noodles hanging about of his mouth. He started chewing again, gulping down the food, wondering at how classy and professional he looked in front of the older man. Or rather, how much he looked like a damn goofball. 

“You had tactical operations lab this morning with Agent Lao, correct?” Phil prompted. 

Steve sighed and refrained from throwing the food against the wall. “And I flunked the practice exercise.”

“Tactical error or bad intel?” Phil settled back into the couch, folding his hands across his stomach.

Steve took a deep breath and explained the whole situation. Phil walked him through where his plan went wrong, and why, pulling on a level of detailed information about the region that Steve found impressive. 

When they were done dissecting the op, which took nearly an hour with Phil filling in the holes in Steve’s historical understanding of South America, Steve rubbed his face. “You had an op there, once.”

“Several. In fact I think the mission objective Lao gave you was based on one of mine.” Phil smiled. “Steve, you’re a brilliant tactician, but even the best handler is going to send an operation straight to hell if he doesn’t have the intel he needs. The important take-away here is?” He left the question open.

“To double check my knowledge of both macro and micro politics for the region, and this time don’t leave out the banks or the crime cartels.”

Phil nodded approvingly, and Steve’s heart swelled up. He tried not to blush, and sat up straight to grab back some of his professionalism.

“Remember that you don’t have to know everything. You count on Iron Man to know engineering and computer systems in the field; being a handler is no different. Trust your team, ask for their advice and feedback, and make your decisions based on that. Trust me, preconceived ideas will get people killed.” He grimaced for a second before the implacable expression slid back into place. 

"You know, it was easier when I was just marching into a war zone." Steve smiled at his own fatalism. 

Phil nodded thoughtfully. "Those battle lines were a little bit clearer, admittedly."

Steve stood up. "Thank you, sir. I'm going to go get some studying done."

Phil stood up as well and cleared his throat again. "You're, ah, welcome to stay here. To study. If you like, you don't have to. Just, I'm here all afternoon and you can ask me questions or…something." He squinted, looking as if he had just confused himself. Steve wasn't sure that that rambling invitation was about, since he was pretty sure that Phil was long past the "Captain America fan" stage of their friendship, but he was not about to turn down an opportunity to spend the whole afternoon with Coulson.

Even if he refused to actually admit to himself why.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve did not fall in love with Phil over the course of a long, romantic night-time motorbike ride.

Probably, he figured, because his best friend who was also Phil's partner was riding with them. 

Steve was zipping up his jacket when Phil wheeled his bike over. Phil stopped and looked at him, his shoulders tense and his expression closed. 

It was a beautiful bike that was similar to Steve's sportster, but not quite as low slung and possibly even longer. It was solid and utilitarian in the same stylish way that Phil himself was. It was also custom painted in a bright red/white/blue motif that ran patriotically over it from tip to tail. There were two small leather saddlebags on the back, each embossed with the Captain America shield. On the body was delicately lettered "Lady Liberty", with a flag snapping around the words.

Clint was leaning against his bike, holding his helmet up to his face and shaking with laughter. 

Steve looked back up to Phil, who hadn't moved. 

"She's a beaut, Phil."

Phil squinted at him. 

Steve shrugged and fussed with his helmet. "We've all got our heroes."

Patting his bike, Phil smiled as he slung a leg over. 

"Man, you two are hopeless," Clint sighed, sitting on his own bike and gearing up. Steve wasn't really sure what he meant, so instead asked which direction they were headed. JARVIS, who was tied into their helmet comms, could steer them back home when the time came so Clint and Steve had, over the months they had ridden together, stopped planning rides in advance. They usually picked a road and made random turns until they decided to go back. 

When Clint explained this to Phil, there was a long, protracted discussion that in no way resembled a shouting match wherein Clint said "For fuck's sake, it's fine! We always get home!" and Phil said "I am not dragging your damn body out of an unmarked ditch!" 

Steve ended the matter by starting up his bike and revving it until they were all nearly deaf. 

By the time they made it out of the city, it was a gorgeous night, the moon lush and full as it rose majestically over the horizon. They did not chatter too much on the comms, instead enjoying the nearly empty back roads and the silvery, magical landscape. 

Naturally, it was Clint — or more accurately, Clint's stomach — that stopped the ride over an hour in. He led them into the parking lot of an all-night diner that Steve suspected had been built about the time he was born. But it advertised "The Best!! MilkShakz in the County!" and that was all she wrote, when it came to Clint and his unstoppable sweet tooth.

"This is great. I've really missed riding," Phil said, his gait loose and confident as they went into the diner after parking their bikes. Clint was already at the counter, interrogating the poor soda jerk about their choice of ice cream and pointing aggressively at the menu. Phil stood back and watched him with fond eyes, and Steve tried to keep his stomach from jerking and twisting up. 

"Yeah. About that." Steve lowered his voice. 

Phil looked at him quizzically.

"Uh, Clint and I have been riding together for a while, and I'm sorry I didn't think to invite you along sooner. He mentioned you rode, before…well, before." He shrugged, hunching over a litle. "And I was just kind of used to it being 'our thing' and that was selfish of me. Especially since." He waved a hand around, hoping to catch the essence of "especially since you guys are together _like that_ which I don't have a problem with and completely respect."

Phil's eyebrows crinkled together as he listened. "That's okay, Steve. I appreciate being invited to join you, and I don't have exclusive claim on Clint or anything."

_But he has you,_ Steve thought as he nodded. 

"Who's claiming me?" Clint turned to them.

"No one would have you, Barton."

"Wounded! This means I get your banana shake all to myself."

Phil arched one eyebrow and Clint backed up. "Okay okay, no touching the banana." He smirked. "Heh. No touching the banana." 

Steve snorted in laughter while Phil rolled his eyes. They sat around and drank their milkshakes, debating going on for a while or turning back. Clint demolished his Chocolate-Cherry monstrosity (Steve hated cherry flavored anything) and ordered a caramel shake to go. Phil jerked his head to the parking lot and walked out, so Steve followed once he put a dollar down for tip.

"We'll leave the sugar monster to finish loading up."

"He really has a bottomless stomach." Steve shook his head. 

Phil sighed as they walked up to his bikes. "It's on or off. On a mission he'll go days on almost nothing, just water and a couple of MREs. No complaints. No arguing, no stopping to buy local food, nothing. I have to remind him to eat, if he's on a stake out. Then he comes off mission and he's like a damn horse, will eat until he's sick."

"Oh. That makes sense." Steve nodded, straddling his bike just to sit on it. 

"How, exactly?"

"The orphanage. Feast or famine: you make do with what you've got until you get a chance stuff your face. I mean I had it good, really, the sisters always tried to shove food at me because I was so small and sickly. Strong kids like Clint, they had to fight for it or starve." Steve fiddled with the zipper on his jacket, remembering Bucky's epic, never-ending battle for food. It had been cruel irony that by the time they escaped the orphanage, the Great Depression had been in full swing. Bucky's first letter back from basic training had mostly been a five page rhapsody about the mess hall.

"I'm ashamed I never put that together, but I know you're right. Thank you."

"For?" 

"Giving me information on how to deal with my asset." He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets in a move that was both vulnerable and defensive. "You'll figure it out, as a handler, but we spend more time handling our assets than the operation itself. You know from the Howling Commandos and the Avengers: keep your people sharp, and they can turn any shit-storm mission into spun gold. Clint's relationship with food has always bothered me. I thought it was a self-esteem issue, the way he doesn't take care of himself in the field."

Steve nodded. "But it's not. He's just on the 'famine' mentality, the idea that he's got to wait. Like you said: on or off. He never developed a middle setting." 

Phil laughed ruefully. "Neither the pysch department nor Barton is going to like this re-education program."

"The 'how to graze like a cow' elite asset training?"

"No, that would be your specialty, Rogers." Phil laughed.

Steve grinned at him. Phil was leaning against his parked bike with his feet crossed. In his jeans and flannel shirt and leather jacket he was relaxed, and the harsh light of the diner's parking lot seemed to pick out his solid masculinity. Confident and yet wearing a boyish expression of happiness, Coulson answered every question Steve ever had about men. He caught himself with a short gasp and turned to look over his bike, fussing with it pointlessly as he blushed.

"Steve?" Phil's voice broke the heavy silence. 

"It's been a great ride!" Steve said brightly, turning back around to give Phil one of his patented USO smiles. Phil had stepped closer and was looking at Steve with a kind, but otherwise unreadable, expression. 

"God, get a room." Clint slurped his milkshake as he joined them and Phil cuffed him on the back of his head. Steve tried not to giggle hysterically in panic. 

"I wasn't, we were—"

"Oh man, stop. I don't care!" Clint rolled his eyes and straddled his bike. 

Steve glanced a furtively at Phil, who was studying him intently with the same focus he used on crossword puzzles. It did not do anything to ease Steve's nerves. "We were just talking about the ride."

"'The Ride.' Sure." Clint waggled his eyebrows and ducked when Phil made to smack him again. "Hey Dad! Stop! Child abuse!" Clint laughed.

"Shut up, Barton," Phil said, resignation clear in his voice. "We ready to head back?" He put on his helmet. Clint finished making disgusting noises with his milkshake then sent the cup sailing through the air to land unerringly in the waste bin on the other side of the lot. 

Steve was incredibly relieved to have a reason to shove his burning face into his helmet. It was okay for them to rib him, and he was not too worried about it outside of not wanting Clint to actually take it seriously and get mad at Steve for making eyes at his fella. Steve knew a lot of things had changed over the course of 70 years, but he suspected 'jealous boyfriend' was a constant he did not want to test.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve did not fall in love with Coulson during the cluster-fuck of a mission in Budapest. 

But he came close.

Clint had not wanted to be a part of the operation, claiming that Budapest was bad luck. In the aftermath, Steve thought that maybe Clint was on to something with that. And he certainly harbored no jealousy over the way that Clint and Coulson looked at each other during the pre-mission briefing, exchanging whole conversations with minor head tilts and raised eyebrows.

But it made sense, because they were partners and they knew each other in ways that Steve did not like thinking about (even when he jacked off to it in his shower). 

It was Steve's first major operation outside of the Avengers that required him to take a lead position, which as a handler meant holding back and hiding rather than charging in at the front. There were several specialists in play, including Barton. For Steve, it was more of a training mission that was expected to be straightforward and short. Coulson was technically the Agent in Charge, with Steve acting as the ground commander to Coulson's general, monitoring communications and directing things while Coulson kept an eye on the big picture in a very hands-off way. 

The big picture, unfortunately, included one specialist going rogue and all their intel being lethally corrupt. In the end, the mission turned brutal in a way that was nothing like Steve was was used to as the leader of the Howling Commandos or even the Avengers, which usually involved a straight forward job of "attack and conquer". Instead, Budapest became a bloodbath of turncoats and traps and Coulson getting shot while trying to rescue an informant. 

Steve managed to hold the ruined strands of the op together, getting everyone to safe houses even while Coulson gasped and cursed on the comm. As soon as Barton was en route to where the quinjet was stashed in a warehouse outside of the city, Steve grabbed his shield and flung himself out of his bolt-hole. He found Coulson in a wash of blood, several bodies strewn around him looking only slightly worse than he did.

_"Hold on, Coulson. Barton's in transit."_

_"I'm good."_

_"Right. Just…just hold on." Steve wrapped his arms around Coulson, holding him to his chest. He was sitting in Coulson's blood, the man's back pressed against Steve's chest as he tried with one arm to keep him still while staunching the blood with the other._

_"I'm holding, Steve." Coulson's voice wavered over Steve's name._

_"Stay with me, soldier. Stay with me." Steve pressed his greasy, bloody hand harder against the wound, trying not to think of how many men he had helped die, and how few were as important as Coulson. "Barton, where the hell are you?"_

_"Ninety seconds out, Captain." Barton's words were short and clipped, his attention on flying the quinjet to their rooftop location. Steve sympathized with Barton's worry, but it seemed to pale in comparison to his own._

_"Barton's almost here, Coulson." Steve whispered into Coulson's ear, holding the man as closely to him as possible._

_"I'm good."_

_Steve snorted. "You're bleeding out."_

_"Dying in your arms, that's okay. Better than…that other time," Coulson said, his voice thready and weak but a very slight smile on his lips._

_"No one is dying."_

_"Maybe. I'm…I'm good, here."_

_Steve swallowed heavily. "Clint will be here in a few seconds. He'll…he'll be here for you."_

_"That's good. Just don't leave. I…need you."_

_Steve nodded, tightening his hold to push in on the wound to staunch the flow, seeing Bucky slip out of his grasp, remembering the stain of Coulson's wound on the helicarrier. He barely registered the quinjet landing and a med team tumbling out of the rear hatch. They raced up to Coulson with bags and needles and bandages, but Steve could not bring himself to let go._

_"Hey, Steve. Steve, hey."_

_Steve felt Clint's hand on his shoulder, shaking him. Steve looked up._

_"You gotta let go. They need to put him on the gurney." Clint's voice was soft, a gentle touch in the midst of Steve's panic._

_He finally relaxed his hold, allowing them to pull Coulson from his arms. "I told him…I told him you were coming."_

_Clint pulled Steve to his feet, his expression shuttered. "Thanks."_

_Steve stood up, Coulson's blood dripping down the front of his suit. One of several suits he had bought, dark and tailored, because that was what Coulson wore and Steve thought it fit the job as well as it did the man. "I told him you were here. I told him."_

_Clint slowly pulled the bloodied jacket off of him as if Steve were a child, replacing it with a heavy parka. "I think he was okay with you here."_

_"I've lost men before." Steve yanked himself out of Clint's hands._

_"Coulson's not lost, and he's more to you than just another guy on your team." Clint snapped the words._

_The tone made Steve pause, turning to face Clint directly. "What are implying, Barton?"_

_"I think you know damn well,_ Rogers _. Now get on the 'jet." Clint shoved him with his shoulder as he walked past._

_Steve sat in the jet, the blood on his slacks cold and sticky against his skin as he watched the medical team working frantically to staunch Coulson's wounds. Clint didn't look back or even ask for updates as he hurled the quinjet towards the helicarrier, and Steve didn't offer._

Later, when Clint came into Coulson's recovery room, Steve got up and left. It wasn't his place to sit by Coulson's bedside, not in any way other than as the junior agent he technically was at that point. More-so, he did not want to face off with Clint about his feelings, because that was not his place either. 

He intended to go back to visit, as a polite formality, but he could not get the image of Clint sitting at Phil's bedside, white as a ghost and staring at Steve with dark, angry eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sorry for the skipped day yesterday, it was quite a crazy day. but here you go!)

Steve did not fall in love with Phil, even though his "partner" was a cheating bastard and Phil deserved someone with a sense of loyalty and who did not make out with his damn mistress in the hospital hallways.

He stood in shock, watching Clint drag Natasha closer, their kiss deep and dirty. She actually had the nerve to be holding a bouquet probably meant for Phil as she pressed up against Clint, pushing him into the wall as if she was the one with thirty pounds on him. 

It had been over three days since Steve had left, and in a pique of guilt he had brought a portable chess board, hoping that maybe since Phil was off the heavy drugs he would be up for a game. He thought it might be a good way to put them back on a congenial, professional footing…at least for his sake, if not Phil's. Instead, he found himself standing in the hallway, watching his best friend cheat on Phil with, of all people, Natasha. Steve literally did not know what to do, other than drift into the shadows. Stealth was never his strong suit but he knew they had not seen him. Clint was facing his way but had been _occupied_ when Steve walked up, and had his eyes closed. 

Then Steve wondered if there was some kind of brain altering drug attack going on, because what they were doing—to each other, and to _Phil_ —seemed impossible. 

"Thanks, Nat." Clint pulled back, whispering and his eyes still closed, although Steve's serum-enhanced hearing picked up his words just fine.

"You need to calm down, Clint. You're not losing him."

"I know, I know! Just, God, I hate seeing him like this, but what am I supposed to do? Tell him no, man, can't help you pee today." Clint laughed caustically.

"Where the fuck is Rogers, anyway?"

"Hiding like a coward. Phil's injury hit him hard and—" He opened his eyes and looked straight at Steve. "Shit. He's standing right behind you."

Natasha, never visibly startled, slowly turned around. Steve knew he was caught out so he pulled his shoulders back and stepped towards them.

"Barton. Romanov." He nodded, knowing his anger was coming off of him in waves.

"Been days since you came by, Cap." Clint snarled, his hands still tight around Natasha's waist.

"Honestly I thought you had everything in hand." He dropped his eyes to Clint's hands, then back up. 

"Not really my place, is it?" Clint pushed Natasha aside. Steve was surprised that she let him. "But you? You just ran away when he got out of surgery."

Steve opened his mouth, but Clint kept talking. "And Phil, he doesn't like strangers helping him, hates even the nurses touching him, so I'm here helping him out just like after he got stabbed and you waltz off like you don't even care which is a damn lie you asshole you need to man up and—" Clint's tirade snapped short when Steve picked him up by his arms and slammed him against the wall. 

"Don't pin this on me, Barton." Steve snarled, his hands tight enough to leave deep bruises. 

"Your no-homo freakout was breaking his heart before, and now you're just an asshole who used to be his friend!" Clint kicked him hard in the shins, but Steve had been through worse than that and shook him like a dog until he stopped. 

Steve didn't even understand half of what Clint was saying, but it was enough. "You cheat on him with our team mate and you're tying to make me into the bad guy?" 

"Let him down, Cap," Natasha snapped, her words cold and precise. 

Glad to oblige, Steve spun then threw Clint down the hallway. Clint managed to save himself by rolling into it, but the nurses all scattered with shrieks and yelling. Clint stood up up and faced off with Steve, who was ready for the fight, but Natasha stepped between them. Steve had kind of lost track of what they were all fighting about, except for the fact that he wanted to hurt Clint for betraying Phil.

Phil's voice came from the door to his room. "Don't make me bring out a ruler to see who has the biggest dick."

Steve stood up straight and looked over at him. Phil was sallow-eyed and unsteady, one hand holding his IV drip stand with a white-knuckled grip. 

"You know what? You two work this shit out. I'm done." Clint simply turned and walked off. 

"Get your house in order, Rogers," Natasha snapped before following Clint to the elevator.

Steve looked over at Phil. "I don't really know what the hell just happened."

Phil tilted a little, alarming Steve enough to get him to move. He came over and wrapped an arm around Phil's waist and started shuffling them back into the hospital room. "You shouldn't have gotten out of bed."

"You two were about ready to wreck the whole floor. The paperwork alone would have put me back in ICU."

Steve couldn't help but laugh as they slowly crept up on the bed. When Steve had settled Phil on the edge, making sure he was not going to topple over, he knelt down in front of him. "We need to talk."

Phil took a deep, steadying breath before looking at him. "Do we?"

"About Clint? Yeah. I think so."

"Clint?" Phil blinked and shook his head. "Does this have something to do with the brawl you two had going on?" 

Steve looked up at him, worrying his lower lip. "I saw…I saw Clint kissing Natasha. And maybe it's not my place to tell you but I can't sit by and let him treat you like that." He rested one hand on Phil's knee, hoping it came across as brotherly and supportive.

Phil squinted at him. "Treat me like what?"

"Uh. Well, you know, cheating on you. Your, uhm, your 'partnership.' He was being unfaithful, Phil." Steve tried to explain as gently as he could. 

Phil opened his mouth and then closed it. He finally let go of the IV stand, putting his hands on the bed as if to push himself backwards. "Help me lie down before I fall on my face," he said, his voice tight. Steve knew how to take an order so he lifted Phil's legs onto the bed, then resettled him so he was sitting up. 

"Okay. Sit down, Agent Rogers," Phil pointed at a chair. His hand shook a little, betraying the exertion, but the formal address and tone of voice told Steve that it was not a good time to point that out. He pulled the chair over and sat down.

"Now pay attention: Clint and I are not in a romantic relationship. He is a free agent, although as you discovered he and Natasha have an ongoing 'thing' that, honestly, just gives me a headache when I try to understand it. I am single. I am gay, but I don't date. I'm perpetually married to my job. I don't give a damn who Clint kisses in the hallway."

It was Steve's turn to open his mouth and close it again, buying his brain time to adjust. "He moved in with you."

"While I was recovering he stayed with me. I have a very short list of people I will let nurse me outside of a hospital, and his list of people he will let touch me is even shorter."

"That sounds pretty possessive for someone you aren't involved with." 

"Steve, you're an orphan too, you should understand this about Clint: he is incredibly possessive of his _chosen_ family."

"Oh."

Phil let him dwell on all that information. It took him a few moments to digest it, after accepting for so long that Clint and Phil were together. Phil melted back into the mattress, looking halfway to sleep, but then spoke up again. "The real question is why you care so much about the idea of Clint 'cheating' on me."

Steve looked down at his hands. "I know I shouldn't."

Phil sighed and closed his eyes. "I think that's the main problem."

"I'm sorry." It was a pat reply, but Steve meant it. He felt guilty both for prying and for making assumptions. 

"That's something you will have to tell Clint, I think." Phil leaned back completely, closing his eyes.

"Yeah." Steve rubbed his face, wondering how anyone could think he was the leader of the Avengers when he was still so good at spectacularly screwing up his personal relationships. The super solider serum had not managed to fix that, at all.

"I know this is uncomfortable for you. I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. I'm gay, and that's just how things are. A lot has changed but I'm never sure how much I can expect you to accept." 

"I…what?" Steve stared at him. 

Phil lifted his head. "That's the problem, isn't it? It bothers you that I'm gay."

"No." 

Phil stared back. "Then I'm not sure I understand."

"I thought Clint was cheating on you. Doesn't matter if he's a guy or a gal, that's wrong. You deserve better than that."

Phil blinked a few times before answering. "I do?"

Steve flung his hands out. "Of course you do!"

"I mean, I agree with you, I just didn't think you'd…uh, care. About me." Phil's ears went pink.

Steve opened his mouth then closed it. He did care. He cared far too much, in fact, in the same way he had cared too much about Bucky—the way the skin around Bucky's eyes crinkled up when he laughed, and the way Bucky dated cheap girls who weren't worth his time and treated him like a dog. Steve _cared_ in all the ways he wasn't supposed to, thinking too much of how soft lips might feel and the how the scrape of a cheek with scruff on it might burn his skin. He cared about the long motorbike rides that Phil joined in on and he cared more about what Phil thought of him than anyone else on the team. 

Phil cleared his throat. "I'm flattered that you care, Steve. We're friends, and I value that."

"Clint said I need to get over my 'no-homo freakout'." Steve leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.

Phil groaned. "He's on new recruit training exercises _forever_. Ohmygod." Phil covered his eyes with one hand. "The man has the tact of a skunk."

Steve had to laugh a little at that. "Yeah but it's not really a surprise, is it?"

"No." Phil sighed, looking at Steve with a wry expression. 

"He's wrong, anyway. I mean if 'no-homo freakout' means what I think it means?"

"Er, usually it means that a straight guy is trying to prove he's not gay. Or conversely that a closeted gay man is trying to prove he's not gay. It's rather contextual." Phil wavered a hand to imply either/or. 

"Ah. Then he's wrong, I'm not trying to prove I'm not gay."

Phil snorted a laugh, looked pained by it and shuffled around in the bed for a moment. "I think only very fringe elements of your fandom believe you could be gay, Steve. Your heterosexuality is not exactly something Captain America has to prove." 

"That's the problem, I think. Back in my day if a guy swung that way he was just kind of weird. I mean people thought it was wrong, but it wasn't what it is today. A guy could help a guy out and not take it too seriously. I mean, if he had a girl back home, everyone knew it was just a way to let off steam. I never figured it was a big deal, it was fun with the right guy."

Phil sat on the bed with his mouth open, a blush blooming over his face. "You. Are you? Did you just come out to me?" He looked thunderstruck.

Steve lifted a shoulder. "I guess?" He rubbed his hands together, his nerves finally getting the best of him. "It's not something guys are supposed to talk about, is it? Or was it? I don't know. It's just a thing."

"A. Thing. With guys. A thing with guys." 

"Uh, you okay?" Steve looked him over, because Phil was looking flush and wild-eyed.

"I think you should leave."

"What?" Steve stood up, his heart sinking. He had not thought Phil would throw him out for admitting that much, but he wondered what else he could have expected.

"I'm having a totally inappropriate reaction to this situation, it would be best if you just go away. I'm going to blame the pain medicine, okay?" Phil nodded a little too quickly. "Come back tomorrow when I'm…when I'm feeling better."

"You're mad at me?" Steve shook his head, refusing to leave. 

"What? No. Uh, no, that's not the inappropriate reaction I'm having. I'm not mad at you I promise. Could you go? Please?" 

Steve's senses were as enhanced as the rest of him. His hearing, his eyesight, and his sense of smell were all hyper-aware of everything around him. He had learned to tune out most of it because it was overwhelming, but he had also learned how to dial in to specific targets when necessary. He looked and listened and smelled. Phil was curled up into himself, his knees bent and his heart thundering, and Steve placed the smell: musk. Phil was turned on, sweating sex out of his pores.

Steve was many things, but 'coward' was not on the list. He stepped up to the bed. Phil startled, trying to shift backwards, but Steve reached out and wrapped his hand around the back of Phil's neck to pull him forward, just a little, and kissed him. 

Steve swallowed the gasp of surprise that met him. Given his own lackluster experience in the area, he thought he was doing pretty well at it, mashing their lips together wetly. He remembered "practicing" with Bucky once, and his first/last kiss with Peggy, and he thought this one was ranking right up there.

Then Phil reached up and tilted Steve's head by moving his chin and pressing gentle fingers against his cheek, and Steve's knees went weak. Phil owned the kiss, nudging at him a little to soften it before parting his mouth and slicking Steve's lips with his tongue. Steve fell forward, catching himself with his hands on the bed as Phil tugged him down. Phil leaned back onto the mattress and the resulting angle was not the most comfortable for Steve but he really, truly did not care as Phil sucked on his bottom lip and pushed his tongue into Steve's mouth and groaned under him.

Steve was vibrating and clumsy. He knew he had lost all semblance of control and he even whimpered an embarrassing noise when Phil sucked on his tongue, pulling it into his mouth in a way that was blatantly suggestive of other activities that Steve had only ever fantasized about. 

Phil pushed Steve backwards, their mouths parting with wet sounds. He took a slow, deep breath, staring at Steve with a wide, boyish smile. "I'm not really up for much. In fact 'getting up' is not on the menu right now. Meds." He glanced down at his lap.

Steve grinned and shoved a hand down under the sheets to hold Phil's dick. It was plump but not hard, despite leaking a little pre-cum, which wasn't surprising given Phil's medical condition at the moment. Phil sucked in a huge breath and groaned at the touch, though, his eyes rolling back as Steve gently stroked his member. It twitched but that was as far as it could muster, so Steve took mercy and let go, swiping his thumb over the wet tip as he released. Phil looked at him in wonder as Steve brought his thumb up to his mouth and sucked it clean. 

"Shit, shit, shit, you can't _do_ that, oh fuck." Phil reached under the sheets and grabbed himself.

Steve laughed. "I can do more than that."

"Oh god," Phil collapsed against the bed again, his eyes wide and bright. "I can't believe this is happening."

Steve held Phil's face in his hands. "Me either. It's okay, though?"

Phil looked at him for a long time, not pulling out of Steve's light hold of his face but not reacting either. It looked like he was trying to memorize every line of Steve's face.

"Phil?"

Phil put one hand over Steve's. "It's okay. Whatever you want, Steve, it's okay. This is more than I ever asked for." He turned and gently kissed the palm of Steve's hand. 

Steve had no idea what Phil was trying to say, but he was happy to accept the words at face value for the moment. He sat on the edge of the bed and carefully leaned over Phil, bracing his arms up and over Phil's head, then kissed him again.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve was possibly already deeply in love with Phil Coulson by the time he left the recovery room late that night. Phil had fallen asleep a while back and Steve eventually got tired of the stern, disapproving looks from Harold the Night Nurse who kept reminding him of official visiting hours. He took the elevator up to the common room floor because he was tired but he needed to talk to Clint, and JARVIS had said that Clint was making a late night snack in the kitchen, which in retrospect Steve thought he should have guessed. 

Clint was watching the pop corn tumble out of the kernel bin inside the popcorn machine (because of course Stark would think that a popcorn machine belonged in a kitchen), and the heat of his gaze was probably hot enough to fry the corn all by itself.

"Clint." Steve stood by the doorway — he was nothing if not tactical. 

"Cap." Clint did not look up at him.

"I'm sorry. I made an assumption, and it was a mistake, and I lost my temper."

Clint glanced at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Steve relaxed a little, realizing that Clint was not about to launch himself across the room to resume the fight. "I thought you two were, ah, a couple." He tried not to cringe, the habit of _not talking about such things_ still strong. It was how he was raised, and he knew it was going to be a while before he was comfortable about it, but he figured the best way to meet that obstacle was head-on. 

Clint did not seem to notice Steve's discomfort. "Well, we're not, and it's kind of gross to think about."

"Gross?" 

"He's like the brother I should have had." Clint finally turned to look at Steve. "He's only twelve years older than me but he offered to adopt me, once. Just so I'd have a legal family. Seemed kind of stupid but I did make him my legal proxy or whathoosits. Medical next-of-kin, that kind of thing. But we're not sleeping together. Ew." He filled up a bowl with the hot popcorn. "Anyway I kind of dig girls, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows.

Steve snorted. "I do."

"And you?"

"Me what?" Steve grabbed a handful of popcorn as Clint walked past, and followed him into the living area. They settled down on the stupidly long couch. It was a familiar and comfortable setting, and Steve relaxed, the events of the past few days finally hitting him. 

"Don't you dig girls? I mean Captain America is always chasing after some girl, in the movies and comics. Phil gets all misty eyed when he talks about Director Carter." 

It was a probing question mostly in the way that Clint left a lot of the implications blank for Steve to fill in. He sighed. "I 'dig' girls fine. And Peggy was…there was a time when I thought she was it for me, she was my girl. Or, you know, I hoped she was."

"I know that feeling, man." Clint groaned and leaned back on the couch, mirroring Steve's position. 

"But I also 'dig' guys."

Clint did not react in the shocked way that Phil had, and Steve wondered how transparent he had been. "Yeah? Any guy in particular?" Clint grinned at him.

"Go to hell, Barton," Steve snapped while trying not to laugh. Clint did his little 'kaw kaw!' hoot of amusement and flicked Steve off. 

"So you guys working things out?" Clint shoved about two handfuls of popcorn in his mouth, chewing slowly.

"I think so. We've at least made progress."

Clint kept chewing for a while. "He's not the kind of guy that dates. I don't mean he's not the kind of guy who dates around, I mean he doesn't date, period. That on-again/off-again thing with Stan the cellist is something he's toyed with for years, but it never took, and Phil didn't go looking for anything else. I figured something went wrong for him somewhere and he just didn't want to settle down with anyone."

"Warning me off?" Steve pulled a knee up and turned to face Clint, who stayed on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

"Nah, not like that. I guess I'm trying to say that I can't help you out with this, honestly. I don't have a fucking clue what Phil might want out of a relationship, much less a relationship with Captain America. What I do know is that he's the kind of guy who offered to adopt me, just because he cared enough to let me know I wasn't alone anymore. He once led three teams into an underground bunker full of terrorists against orders, just to pull Nat and Sitwell out alive. And I know he and Fury have been friends since Phil was in college — they don't mention it, but you hear them talk and things get said."

"You're saying he's a guy who would take this kind of thing very seriously."

"Yeah. That." Clint nodded and loaded up with popcorn again. 

"Good thing I'm a serious kind of guy." Steve smiled and got up to leave Clint with his popcorn and his strange taste in movies, which inexplicably ran to what Bruce called "slasher horror flicks" and Steve called "utterly disgusting."

While he thought the conversation with Clint indicated that he and Phil were on the same page, it was weird to think of the situation as dating, much less a more formal courtship, because they were both men. Although part of him was just as surprised at the idea that he was suddenly in a committed relationship as the fact that it was with another man. At least, he thought it was a committed relationship — he hoped so. Steve knew plenty of guys who had gotten married to girls they barely knew, during the war, and it wasn't as if shotgun weddings weren't common enough in his section of Brooklyn during the Depression. People tended to forget that WWII was right on the heels of the Roaring 20s, along with jazz, weed and free love. Steve was fine with changing mores, he had seen plenty in his life, but to think of _himself_ being in both a serious and openly queer relationship was strange.

He went to bed but it was a restless sleep. He remembered the look Bruce had given him at Phil's funeral, when he explained that Phil was gay, as if he thought Steve might…what? Get up and walk out? Because he was Captain America and wouldn't "approve" of that kind of thing?

He stared at the ceiling, wondering if Phil thought the same way.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve was pretty sure he was in love with Phil by the next morning when he went down to the medical floor, and damn the consequences. Like everything else he had ever wanted in life, if Steve got a chance at it, he was determined to hold on until he died. The thought made him feel light on his feet, and he bounced on his toes anxiously as the elevator dropped to the medical floor. 

He found Phil tottering along the hallway with Natasha helping him. They both looked grumpy and it was easy to see that Natasha did not like playing nurse and Phil did not like needing assistance.

"Mind if a break in on this waltz?" Steve said as he walked towards them.

"I refuse to help again until he's back on coffee." Natasha grumbled as Steve slid into her place, adjusting Phil's hold on him so it was more comfortable. Natasha stepped back and looked at them. "You two have this figured out now?"

"House fully in order." Steve nodded while Phil was still mustering a response. Phil looked up at him for a second then grinned. 

"I better go haul Clint in for a sparring session." She sighed heavily.

"I talked to him last night. He seemed okay with, ah, this."

"Oh, he is okay with you two being together. He's not okay with Phil being shot."

"I'm _fine_ ," Phil grumbled. 

She looked at Phil, and then at Steve. "Was he eating half the kitchen last night?"

Caught out, Steve nodded. "I only saw him massacring the popcorn, though."

"Damnit!" Phil struggled forward and Steve tightened his hold. 

Natasha reached out and put her hand on Phil's shoulder. "He's fine. I'll go distract him. You get well." She smiled at Steve with a small nod before turning and heading for the elevator. 

"I feel like I'm missing half of what is going on," Phil said, taking a few more steps forward. He was a little off balance, but his strength was coming back so Steve was mostly there to keep him on an even keel. The nurses, having no one else to fuss over, kept a collective gimlet eye on them as Phil shuffled along.

"You probably are. When I was a kid in the orphanage, we used to have proctors. Usually they were older kids who got extra food or treats from the sisters for keeping an eye on us."

"Fury is not giving me treats, I assure you." 

"My point is that when one of them was sick or called away, the entire floor was mayhem. Sometimes they figured out everything we got up to, but usually not."

"This is not easing my mind in the least," Phil grumbled. 

"Relax, Phil. You've got a snitch, remember?"

"You'd rat out your teammates?"

"Me? No. I was talking about JARVIS."

Phil chuckled as they reached the end of the hall. He stared at the elevator longingly.

Steve leaned down to whisper. "Not yet. But when you leave here, we're going in that elevator to your suite. Together."

Phil blushed and ambled a slow turn back towards his recovery room. "You play a dirty game, Rogers."

Steve nodded, smirking. He wasn't a virgin, with gals or guys, but he was hardly the smooth operator that Bucky had been and it felt like a triumph to get "his fella" a little worked up. When they got Phil back into his bed, though, the thought had shifted back the previous night's worries. "Do you mind if people know?"

Phil frowned, but his expression cleared when he realized what Steve was asking. "Absolutely not. I've been 'out and proud' since my separation from the Army. SHIELD regs are far more relaxed. I need to shift you over to Sitwell as it would be inappropriate for me to continue to mentor you, but otherwise there are no hurdles that I'm concerned about." He sighed, then, and looked over at Steve, who tensed up. 

"Steve, you're Captain America. There is a certain mythology attached to you, and you're a very public persona whether you like it or not. If you want to keep, ah, this situation private, we can do that. I would understand."

Steve moved to sit on the edge of the bed and clasped his hands together. Phil shifted around, getting settled, and let Steve have his moment. 

"Clint said you're the kind of guy who takes this kind of relationship seriously."

"I am, and I do." Phil nodded.

"I am too, and I know if I were dating someone else, like, uh, Natasha, well." Steve stopped there, hoping his point was obvious. 

Phil nodded. "No one would think twice of you dating a woman. A man over fifteen years your senior, on the other hand…" Phil trailed off and shrugged with his good shoulder.

Steve leaned back a little to look at him. "Is that what you think?"

Phil focused on the corner of the room. "You were born in 1918, Steve, but technically you're only 29. I'm 45. But to be fair, I think most people would focus on the fact that you are dating a man, regardless of my age. It's going to be a scandal, though, and our age gap is going to be used as a weapon." 

Steve sat with that for a while. Phil eased back fully on the bed and closed his eyes. 

He thought about everything he knew, which, given his research on Tony Stark, was a lot. Tony's whole life had been mired in celebrity controversy that would have given the Hollywood gossip rags of Steve's day complete conniptions. Some of that still haunted Tony, even after all his good-will work with the Avengers and developing arc reactor technology. More than a few magazine headlines had been cheap shots at Tony and Pepper's relationship, often dredging up scandalous photos of Tony in compromising situations from years earlier. On Clint's recommendation, Steve had avoided the "Stark sex tape" video links that kept popping up. 

And, bluntly put, Phil wasn't Peggy. He was very much a man, a middle-aged man, and no one was going to miss that fact or what it meant. "This could get pretty messy," Steve finally allowed

"A master of understatement as always, Captain Rogers," Phil said, his tone dry. Then he sighed. "We aren't even out of the gate yet, Steve. Let's try this for a while when I'm not in the hospital, and see where it goes. You might get bored of an old bureaucrat like me. And the controversy would not be worth the trouble if you-if we decide to end this quickly."

Steve stared at him. "Bored of you?"

Phil waved a hand around, his ears going pink. "Or not. I just mean anything could happen. Let's take things slowly."

Steve nodded, reaching out to clasp Phil's hand in his own. He was pretty certain it was too late for him to take it slowly, because he had been unintentionally doing just that for nearly a year. Where that thought took him, and how it made him feel to think about spending the rest of his life with Phil, was something he was not too sure that Phil would like as much as Steve did.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your support and encouragement for this insanely sweet, fluffy, tropey story! I hope you like the wrap up, which is highly romantic fluffy fluffiness, even for me. It was fun to write, though!

Steve was hopelessly in love with Agent Phil Coulson by the time Phil was released from the medical floor of the tower and allowed back to his own suite. Steve had spent days doing his own SHIELD work remotely by Phil's bedside (because an op gone wrong apparently took three times as much paperwork than one done right). They had spent most of the week talking about life, and work, and sometimes making out. Steve was quite pleased with that last part, given how little kissing he had opportunities for in the past. Even with the few (very few) lovers he had been intimate with, things had been fast and hurried and more about fumbling clothes in the dark than sweet kisses and nuzzling. His goodbye kiss to Peggy had really been the first time he kissed with romantic intent, as far as Steve was concerned, so catching up with Phil was exciting. 

It excited him in other ways, too, but Phil was still mostly on bed rest for at least another week, with stern warnings not to do anything "stressful." Phil looked so mournful at that, Steve had laughed. 

"It affects you to," Phil said, tucking the sheets around himself after the doctor had left.

"I guess. Nothing I haven't lived without for a long time already, and I'm happy with this. I'd rather you get well." Steve went back to tapping in information on the RQS-43r form. It seemed like a lot of hoo-ha to go through for some new office pens, but they were listed under "lethal weapons" in the SHIELD supply catalog and that meant they were as much trouble as ordering live grenades.

"You really are, aren't you?" 

Steve looked up. Phil was staring at him, his eyes full of surprise and awe.

"I mean, you're happy with just this." Phil pointed at where Steve had set up his "portable office" next to Phil's bed. 

"I'm happy with _you_ ," Steve stressed.

Phil shook his head and laughed. "Okay."

Steve pushed his folding tray aside, figuring it was as good a time as it ever would be. And if they weren't on the same page, it was better to know that, whatever the repercussions. "Phil."

Phil's expression turned serious. "Yes?"

"Dating isn't new, you know. People dated when I was a kid, and Bucky was always dragging me out on double dates with dames he met somewhere or other. So if you want to date, we can do that. But I've got to tell you, this is kind of a big deal for me. It's more than dating. We're together, that's how I see it. For good."

Phil blinked, opened his mouth and shut it again. "We hardly know each other."

"I think you know me better than anyone else. And I know you enough to know what I want." Steve got up from his chair to sit on the edge of Phil's bed. "A lot of guys I knew during the war, they got married fast. Maybe the pressure of war got to 'em, but I think it's because they knew a good thing when they saw it. They didn't hem and haw about this girl or that girl. They found the one they wanted and they married her. Guys like Bucky were never going to settle down, war or no war, but the guys that wanted to, well, they _did_." He gently took Phil's hand in his and rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. "I've found my guy, and that's you."

Phil continued to look shell shocked for a while before squeezing Steve's hand. "Steve Rogers, did you just propose to me?"

"Yep." Steve nodded easily, trying to hide his heart thumping in his chest.

Phil nodded back at him. "Okay." He sounded breathless and his heart monitor was picking up a pace.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Wow, I think I had this all planned out when I was about six." He snapped his mouth shut and went scarlet. "I mean, what I meant to say—"

Steve leaned over to kiss him but they both ended up laughing too hard, and instead held each other close, cuddling until a nurse came in and clucked at Steve for elevating Phil's blood pressure. 

A few days (and a few more make-out sessions) later, Phil was cleared to go back to his own quarters, although he was still out on sick leave. But even through his excitement about escaping medical, Phil was sharp. "I'm going up ten floors. I don't need to change clothes." He eyed the outfit Steve was holding, khaki trousers and a soft green turtleneck. Clint had actually chosen it out of Phil's closet, insisting that Phil wore the outfit a lot during "down time." 

"Er," Steve said, frowning. 

Phil frowned back at him.

Pepper saved Steve by walking in. "You're not changed yet!"

"Why are you here?"

Pepper, too used to Tony's abrasive ways to be even slightly phased by a grumpy Phil Coulson, clucked at him. "Because Avengers' PR is only a minor, but incredibly important, part of my ever-expanding job description." She grabbed the turtleneck and shook it out. "Ohhhh, this is nice. Perfect, Steve!"

"What have you done?" Phil turned on Steve.

"It's a press conference, Phil, not the end of the world." Pepper sighed. "Did you honestly think the SHIELD liaison for the Avengers was going to be released from medical without a press conference? We give press conferences when Tony gets a damn hangnail. _Get dressed_." She stomped out.

Phil continued to glare at Steve, who shook his head. "You know she's right."

"I'm supposed to be on the down low," Phil snapped as he took the turtleneck and pulled it over his head. 

"I don't even know what that means. Put your pants on." Steve handed the trousers over and Phil slipped into them awkwardly.

Steve managed to play it cool and collected as he bustled Phil into a wheelchair and then down the elevator to the floor where Pepper had set up the press conference. Cameras started clicking as soon as they walked into the large conference room. The reporters and photographers were all cordoned off from where the Avengers were gathered, and Stark security was around to keep people from getting pushy. Steve wheeled Phil, who was looking incredibly bland and forgettable, into the middle of the group. He leaned down. "Stop that. You can't disappear in this crowd."

With a twitch of his lips, Phil straightened up in the chair and transformed into Senior Agent Phil Coulson, Official Avengers Liaison, hard-shelled and serious and not to be messed with. Clint glanced at Steve and rolled his eyes. 

Tony, of course, opened the proceedings with a dramatic and highly edited version of how Phil had come to get injured, making it sound more like an Indiana Jones movie than a SHIELD op that went FUBAR. Thor, Bruce, Natasha, Pepper and Jane stood around looking dignified and relieved, nodding along, while Clint continued to roll his eyes and get jabbed in the ribs by Natasha. 

Tony eventually turned the microphone over to Phil, who answered most questions with "that's classified" and "I'm fine." 

After a few minutes, Pepper broke in. "Okay, this is wrapping up. We have a statement from Captain America, and there will be _no_ questions after that." She handed the microphone to Steve. Bruce reached over and patted him on the back.

Phil looked up at him, his worry evident in the crinkled skin around his eyes. 

Steve took a deep breath. "Thanks for being here. I have a lot to say, but I think I'm going to skip that part and move on to the important stuff." He handed the microphone to Clint. Moving around in front of Phil, to one side because he wanted there to be no mistaking with anyone there what he was doing, Steve got down on one knee and pulled the box he had been hiding out of his jacket.

Phil sat frozen in the chair, his expression completely blank. Steve tried not to take that as a bad sign, because they had already talked about doing this. He was pretty sure this was just a formality. Almost positive, even.

His hands shook as he opened the box which held a flat gold band engraved with the Captain America shield (that had also been Clint's idea, and Steve was going to kill him personally if Phil didn't like it). Steve cleared his throat, ignoring the sounds behind him of the reporters going crazy. Clint held the mic low so it would pick up Steve's voice.

"When you got injured it reminded me how lucky I am that either one of us is alive, and how important you are to me. Anything could happen, and I know we already sort of talked about this but I wanted it to be official, so everyone would know and understand how happy being with you makes me. For however long we've got, Phil Coulson, will you marry me?" 

Steve felt a quiet hush descend upon the room like a stone on his back. He held out the ring, just the way he had always seen guys do in the movies, and kept looking directly at Phil's face.

Phil reached out with one hand and traced his cheek with soft fingers. "Where angels fear to tread, Captain Rogers?"

"I know a good thing when I've got it, Agent Coulson. Say yes."

Phil smiled and nodded. "Yes, Steve."

"Oh thank God, Phil!" Relief flooded him and he leaned forward, kissing Phil passionately, although that had not been on his game plan. He almost dropped the ring box. "Oh!" He sat back and pulled out the ring with shaking fingers. "I don't know, is it okay?" He glanced between Phil and Pepper. 

She smiled. "It's more like an engagement ring. You can always do it again later. Go ahead."

Steve grabbed Phil's hand and fumbled as he tried to slip the ring on. "Damn it." 

"Shhhh," Phil said, his other hand rubbing along Steve's. Together they got the ring on. Phil stared at it. "You put the shield on it?"

Steve manfully tried not to cringe. "Yes?"

Phil lunged forward and kissed him. Behind them, Pepper and Clint were yelling at reporters and several were being dragged out by security (or possibly Natasha) and Steve thought he heard Thor crying. The place could have burned to the ground, and in fact he considered his "coming out" as something close to a scorched earth policy for his reputation, and his legend. 

But he didn't give a single damn, because he knew there would never be a day he wasn't falling in love with Phil Coulson.

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding the "eating disorder" warning: Clint manifests a mild binging eating disorder that is talked about by Steve and Phil over the course of the story, but it is not central to the story. But it's there, so if that kind of thing bothers you, tread carefully.


End file.
